


Caught Off Guard

by captainskellington



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Snowball Fight, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 16:58:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1695680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainskellington/pseuds/captainskellington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is snow.<br/>There are snowballs thrown.<br/>Somebody fears for his life.<br/>That same somebody is totally not aroused by that.</p><p>Nobody acts their age.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught Off Guard

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this post](http://cityelf.com/post/86916567913) on Tumblr by combbefferre & mountainsouled, and encouraged by what was either around 10 anonymous messengers or one incredibly eager person in my askbox.

This is entirely Courfeyrac’s fault.

In fact, if you point to any moment in Enjolras’ life where it seems like everything just went completely out of control, even for just a matter of minutes at a time, you can bet your ass that it was almost definitely Courfeyrac’s fault.

This is one of those moments.

Enjolras needs new friends.

-*-*-

 

He only gets out of bed because Courfeyrac will not leave him alone to type in peace. It would have been a perfect day for writing; it’s freezing outside and his bed is wonderfully warm and his laptop is perfectly within reach and he’s slept in to 10am (because it’s winter break and he can) when his door flies open and the man-child he calls his best friend flings himself on top of him.

“Courf!” Enjolras reprimands, his voice muffled from underneath the duvet, wind momentarily knocked out of him by the weight of his friend. “Was there any need?”

“Yes!” comes the reply, and he feels Courfeyrac roll off of him only for his face to appear and peek under the duvet, eyes huge. “It’s _snowed,”_ he breathes, voice reverent.

“I fail to see how this is relevant to my interests,” Enjolras retorts, curling back up in the darkness under the cover. He lets out a cry when he’s suddenly thrust into bright light by the removal of his duvet barricade by Courfeyrac and moves to thump him for it. Courfeyrac dances out of reach, laughing, then darts back to his side and leans down until they’re nose to nose.

“Do you wanna build a _snowmaaaaan?”_

Enjolras replies with a bloodcurdling shriek.

Courfeyrac knows he’s won.

-*-*-

 

Grantaire, on the other hand, has been up for hours. It was he who crashed through into Joly and Bossuet’s room with a yell of “SNOW” and subsequently had them all scampering out of the flat still half asleep (though buzzing with excitement) before most of the city was even awake.

Seventeen snow angels, two failed attempts at igloos, a family of rather aristocratic looking snowmen and women (one of which may or may not have mysteriously acquired Combeferre’s glasses), the appearance of most of their friends, and several hours later and he’s found himself in the midst of a snowball fight of the most epic proportions, with sodden clothing and his face near enough freezing off.

Grantaire loves winter.

At the sight of Combeferre popping out from his snowman doppelganger and launching a heap of snow at Bahorel, Grantaire dives behind a tree for cover. Ferre's aim is terrifyingly accurate considering his vision should technically suck right now.

He points this out from his nice hidey hole behind the tree and gets a reply of "CONTACT LENSES, MOTHERFUCKER!" Which, okay.

Combeferre is another one who loves winter. It's a bonding experience for everyone, as well as being relatively terrifying for all involved.

Grantaire hears Jehan screech in terror somewhere in the distance and peeks around his lovely barky shield to see who got him, which is why he’s caught off guard when there’s a rustle behind him.

He spins around and ducks.

-*-*-

 

Enjolras leaves the house with a scarf wrapped around his lower face and a hat pulled down to his eyebrows, which have been stuck in an immovable frown ever since he broke the sound barrier with his shrieking at Courf around thirty minutes previously. The collar of his customary red coat is yanked up to his chin and his shoulders are hunched, and Courfeyrac would be mocking the mittens he’s wearing on hands thrust into his pockets, but he knows better after the last twenty minute lecture he received on preserving body heat.

There’s shrieks emanating from around the corner that Enjolras just _knows_ aren’t coming from anybody under the age of twenty, and he resists the urge to roll his eyes at his friends. It’s not that he doesn’t like snow. He really does, and he can appreciate the beauty of it and everything. He just prefers to do it from inside. Where it’s warm. And there’s no chance of getting hypothermia.

When they round the corner and catch sight of their friends scattered around Courfeyrac is off like a shot, crowing a battle cry that wouldn’t go amiss if it were being uttered by one of the Lost Boys from Peter Pan. Enjolras lingers back, content to simply watch the collection of severely overgrown children at play.

Combeferre calls something to him from his position crouched behind a row of rather alarming snowmen, and he steps forward to hear him better.

Tugging the scarf down from around his face so he can speak, he’s about to ask him to repeat himself when all of a sudden Joly darts out from behind a tree laughing maniacally and skids to a halt in front of Enjolras, not having seen him. He’s closely pursued by Grantaire, whose wild dark hair is a stark contrast with the flakes of snow littered throughout it.

And that’s when it happens.

-*-*-

 

Grantaire doesn’t move quickly enough to avoid Joly dumping an armful of snow on top of his head, and by the time he’s able to shake it off and scramble to his feet Joly’s already sprinted off, yelling triumphantly. He hastily pats a sturdy snowball into shape and takes off after him, feet slipping slightly on the snow-coated ground.

Joly slows to avoid a patch of ice and Grantaire takes his chance, pelting the snowball as hard as he can and watching with satisfaction as it soars right towards Joly’s face.

But then he twists around to see it and ducks out of the way just in time, alarm evident in his expression, and the snowball soars right over his head to collide with an entirely new target.

Grantaire, like the temperature, freezes.

Joly, on the ground, is _pissing_ himself laughing.

Everybody else is silent, waiting with bated breath to see what happens.

-*-*-

 

Enjolras blinks once, twice, three times in quick succession after the missile thwacks right in the dead centre of his face. He reaches up slowly to wipe the snow off his face, a stinging sensation spread all across the surface of his skin where the snowball hit. He watches its melted remains drip onto the material of his mitten, then turns his gaze upwards to turn his death glare on his assailant.

Grantaire looks understandably terrified, eyes wide and eyebrows fast encroaching the territory of his hairline, an inexplicable blush showing across his cheeks. He raises his hands defensively and begins to stammer, “Enjolras, I’m sorry, I swear I didn’t see you, I didn’t mean to--”

And that’s when Enjolras thinks ‘ _fuck it_ ’, bellows “VIVE LA FRANCE!” at the top of his lungs, scoops up a heap of snow from beside the head of a now-crying with laughter Joly, and begins viciously, rapidly, mercilessly, full-on _pelting_ Grantaire with snowball after snowball.

And _that_ is precisely the moment that everything goes to shit, which Enjolras will later blame Courfeyrac for.

Everybody takes that as their signal that it’s every man for himself and the air is soon filled with a frenzy of hastily prepared and launched snowballs. Enjolras loses his hat, the snow-Combeferre loses its head, and Grantaire’s hair is entirely covered in the white powder before the hour is up.

-*-*-

 

It’s only later when they’re all trudging back to Enjolras and Courfeyrac’s place that Grantaire catches back up with him.

“ _Vive la France_? Seriously?” he snorts, shaking snowflakes out of his hair.

Enjolras shrugs and grins at him. “You caught me off guard, I couldn’t think of anything better to say.”

Grantaire laughs, then pauses. “I am sorry about that, by the way.”

“I could tell, you should have seen your face!” Enjolras laughs, replaying the scene in his mind. “You looked terrified!”

Grantaire inexplicably looks relieved. “Terrified? Yeah, damn right I was terrified. I was fearing for my life.”

Enjolras narrows his eyes at him and mutters, just loudly enough that only Grantaire can hear; “Do you always pop a boner when you’re fearing for your life, R?”

Grantaire’s eyes shoot wide open and he blushes furiously.

“Oh, you- so you caught that, huh?” he asks, voice sounding strained, eyes darting around Enjolras’ face to try and gauge his reaction.

“I did,” Enjolras nods curtly as they reach the steps leading up to his front door. He hops up them before he continues. “Remind me to repay you for that some time, by the way.” He pauses at the door, leaning outside again to shoot Grantaire, still at the bottom of the stairs, a dastardly grin. “The snowball to the face, I mean.”

Grantaire is left staring at the door when he disappears inside, chuckling wickedly to himself.

 _“What,”_ he asks the empty air.

The only answer he receives is the heavens opening again to refresh the blanket of snow covering the ground with a blustery cold flurry of new snowflakes.

Grantaire heads inside.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I am aware that it is nearly June and there has been no snow for months.  
> I FAIL TO SEE YOUR POINT.
> 
> MY NAME IS [cityelf](http://cityelf.tumblr.com) ON TUMBLR AND I AM A WINTERHOLIC.  
> COME SAY HI OR FEAR MY WINTRY, WINTRY WRATH.
> 
> Edit: This can also be seen as a prequel to [9 Times Grantaire Asked Enjolras Out (+1 He Said Yes)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1163199), by a happy coincidence. But they can be read alone uwu


End file.
